The Medusa Contingency
by Scribbler
Summary: [one shot] Mimi Tachikawa's eyesight has been weak since she was a child. Suddenly, strange dreams begin to plague her, and she is forced to ask herself the questions she's avoided all her life. [AU]


DISCALIMER & NOTES: I do not, repeat, do not own Digimon: Digital monsters. They are officially the property of Toei, Saban and Bandai. However, some characters included in this fic *are* mine, and I'll be rather pissed off if people try to steal them. If you wish to use any of them, just ask. I'm not an ogre - I'll let you use them if I know what for.  
Warning: This is an AU fic (Alternative Universe) and therefore only makes use of *some* aspects of the original Digimon series. Primarily, it's based upon a concept from a comic book I used to read (so please don't sue me if you are the publisher of said pamphlet) and it's my first attempt at this sort of fic, so pleeeeeease let me know what U think, K? As usual, here are my pleas for all reviews, emails and/or illustrations concerning this fic. Don't be shy, I LOVE feedback, and I'll review any fics U ask me to. Ta muchly  
  
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THE MEDUSA CONTINGENCY   
By Scribbler  
January 2002  
  
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"The eye of the master will do more work than both his hands."-- Benjamin Franklin  
  
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The face loomed out of the darkness. Cold and harsh, not a single glimmer of compassion was visible anywhere in its angular contours. Leathery skin stretched taunt over cusped cheekbones, lips indented slightly where wicked cruel tusks jutted from its snarling mouth. Living serpents writhed in place of its hair, and as for its eyes.... twin pools of liquid fire blazed like captured flames of hell, the shadows cast by overhanging eyebrows only accentuating their patent evil....  
  
This then, was the gorgon Medusa. The demoness of Greek myth and folklore.  
  
Miss Briggs pointed with one slender finger at the eyes of the ancient imago standing before her.  
  
"The gorgon's monstrous eyes could turn all who looked at her into stone statues, so the legend goes."  
  
A crowd of girls behind their teacher - each dressed in identically hideous burgundy school uniforms, almost as revolting as the leering statue itself - looked on as they listened intently to their tutor, who adeptly wove the various stories of the carved figures in the museum around them so that they manifested as lucid images in their imaginations.  
  
A cry went up from across the exhibition room, and the assembled crowd turned to where a girl with curly red hair was pointing eagerly at another statue; that of a young man, weapon in hand, bearing the decapitated gorgon's head aloft, whilst keeping his own gaze averted from her ghastly face.  
  
"But Miss Briggs," the girl cried, "It says here that this guy Perseus cut off her head with his sickle! How did he manage that?"  
  
Miss Briggs smiled knowingly. "Let me finish telling the story, Charlotte. You see, Perseus had stolen a magical helmet that made him invisible, so he could creep up on Medusa unawares. Then the goddess Athena guided him so that he didn't have to look into those horrible eyes."  
  
"Really?" The girl known as Charlotte grinned mischievously. "I'd love to be invisible! Think of all the things I could do if people couldn't see me!"  
  
"I dread to think." Replied the older woman, chuckling good-naturedly.  
  
Chattering noisily, the school-fieldtrip party filed into the next room, obstreperously discussing the theoretical pros and cons of invisibility. But one of their number hung back, staring fixedly at the ugly effigy of the gorgon through dark glasses.  
  
Mimi Tachikawa's eyesight had been weak for as long as she could remember. The corrective lenses her uncle had bought for her did little to help, and to her, the world was a dusky, cheerless place. Even now, the gorgon's head she gazed so intensely at was a mere blur of curved lines and swarthy colours. She sighed. She'd heard the tale of Perseus thousands of times before. Her Uncle Patrick was obsessed with Greek mythology, and that had been his favourite bedtime story for her when she was younger. Mimi tried as hard as she could to discern properly the ancient museum statue, but eventually had to give up when the backs of her eyeballs began to ache with the effort.  
  
As she turned to follow her classmates, Mimi contemplated what her guardian had drilled into her ever since she came to live with him fourteen years ago, when her parents had been tragically killed in a car accident. Patrick Tachikawa had always insisted that there was a frightening core of reality and truth at the heart of every Greek legend, and had never let his niece forget it. His house was filled with books of Hellenistic myth and lore, and throughout her childhood he'd thrilled Mimi with skilfully interlaced accounts from their pages.  
  
Mimi didn't really mind this borderline obsession. In all the years she'd lived with her Uncle, she'd gotten used to his little quirks and singularities, just as she'd gotten used to her bad eyesight. For all his faults, she loved her relatively eccentric next of kin, and was grateful to him for having taken her in when she had no place else left to go. Patrick wasn't exactly the most child-friendly of people, but he'd made an exception in the case of his brother's daughter, and they lived their lives side-by-side in relative peace and calm.  
  
"Mimi!" A voice hissed in her ear. Mimi turned to see her best friend, Sora Takenouchi, standing by her shoulder. The other girl was smiling broadly, showing glistening white teeth. "Aren't you coming? There are some cool exhibits in the Egyptian section next door. They've got real mummies and everything! Come see."  
  
"Sure, Sora." Mimi replied, allowing herself to be dragged away by her companion, who acted as her eyes, guiding the pink haired teenager safely through the maze of statues and glass containers. She appreciated the chestnut haired girl's aid, but wished that she didn't need it. For all her acceptance of her disability, Mimi still craved every day that she could see as well as other people. Could view the world around her without the haze of dark glasses clouding her vision each second. But these yearnings were destined never to be answered, for she had long since realised that her condition was a permanent one. This information didn't make the yearning any less intense, though.  
  
Cold, fiery eyes watched the pair of teens go, marking their progress with dilated, apathetic pupils. The gorgon statue maintained its vigil of the museum room as it had done for countless years before their visit, and would do for countless epochs more. Harsh eyes burning jealously in their stone canvas.  
  
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Mimi sauntered up the stairs to her Uncle's studio, school bag swinging lazily from one slim shoulder. Inside it, pens crashed faintly against the side of her 'Tenchi Muyo' pencil tin, this and her footsteps being the only sounds on the enclosed spiral staircase. The rose-tressed girl kept one hand against the wooden panelled wall as she climbed, making her way primarily by touch rather than sight.  
  
When she reached the landing, she tentatively knocked on the thick oaken door into the studio, before cautiously pushing it open. Across the room, a tall, lean figure was hastily stuffing something into a metal box that rested on a wooden counter attached to the wall. Patrick Tachikawa called out gruffly.  
  
"Mimi! How many times have I told you, never enter this room until I say so, especially when my box is open!"  
  
"Sorry, Uncle." Mimi hastily apologised. There was a hollow click, which signified that the mysterious coffer had been shut and locked once more, and the older man finally swivelled round to face his newly returned charge.  
  
"Back from the museum so soon?" He asked almost jovially, his tone a sharp contrast to how he had spoken only moments ago. Mimi ignored this switch - it wasn't the first time he'd acted like this, and it was true, he *had* warned her before about coming into his studio before being granted entrance.  
  
"Yes," She answered, voice light and flutey. "We visited the Classical Statuary, Uncle Patrick. There were loads of urns and statues, and Miss Briggs explained how the gorgon Medusa turned people into stone, although she didn't tell it as well as you do."  
  
"Aah, yes - with her eyes!" Patrick said, crossing the room to stand by one of his numerous creations littering the floor. "She did mention the eyes, didn't she?" His manner was forceful, even a little disconcerting, and Mimi wondered vaguely at the unexpected passion perforating his baritone voice.  
  
"Why, yes. Yes she did. What would the tale of the gorgon be without mentioning her eyes?"  
  
Patrick appeared not to have heard her, bending down and stroking the head of one of the chiselled stone dogs sitting on the peeling floorboards. He continued, talking almost to himself, his voice was so low and inverted.  
  
"In all ancient lore the world over, there were no eyes so full of mystery and power as the gorgon. Dark they were, and full of dark purpose. Songs and epics were written about her eyes, but none could even touch upon the power contained within them. Not even close."  
  
Mimi shivered inadvertently at the sentiment contained in his words. He'd said things like this before, but each time she felt a new wave of unease wash over her when he did.  
  
"Man, Uncle - you make me feel all shivery when you talk like that." She glanced around the studio at the multitude of carved stone wildlife the bearded man had fashioned. Patrick Tachikawa was a talented and famous animal sculptor, and many of his creations adorned celebrities' homes and dwellings, which had made he and his niece substantially well off over the years. Not enough to be considered 'rich', but wealthy enough to afford this rather grand house in the countryside with room enough for his sprawling workspace yet close enough to the city - and mall - to keep Mimi happy.   
  
The teenager's weak gaze fell upon the outline of a petrified rabbit, ears cocked and eyes wide - a perfect likeness of its living counterpart even down to the strands of soft, downy fur smoothed across its chest. She marvelled at the intricate detail, and obvious time and effort that had gone into its formulation.  
  
"So, what have you been doing today?" she asked at length. "Carving another one of your fabulous stone animals? You got an order from Minako Takawa for a Siamese cat the other day, didn't you?"  
  
"Animals, Trash!" Patrick vociferated, straightening up and swiftly kicking over the greyhound statue he'd been caressing. Mimi jolted as it struck the floor, smashing the end of its flawlessly formed nose into a hundred pieces. She glanced up at the slim man. What did he mean, trash? He loved his work, and took pride in all his animal creations. It wasn't like him to simply dismiss them as 'trash', much less willingly destroy or damage one of them.   
  
Patrick turned to stare out of the huge window, which took up all of one wall to his studio. Outside was a seemingly endless expanse of grassy-terrain and unspoilt forest, peaceful and elegant in the growing dusk. He spoke again, cleaving through the strained silence his unusually violent action had elicited.  
  
"My new project is an altogether nobler undertaking - the life size representation of the human form! So lifelike that the subjects will look as is they had gazed upon the gorgon's head!" He gave a small sigh, and then waved one graceful hand at the girl listening behind him. "Go now. I'm tired of talking. Amuse yourself until supper, I'll call you when it's ready."  
  
Mimi had already been edging towards the half closed door, and gratefully bolted at the opportunity her Uncle's short attention span had provided. As she tapped quickly down the stairs, bag banging against her back, she couldn't help wondering about her guardian's sudden odd behaviour, and the strange, shrewd expression in his fathomless brown eyes.  
  
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As always, when her uncle was starting a new undertaking, Mimi was left very much to her own devices. The school term ended, and summer vacation began, but still she found herself banned from his studio - as was always the case when he was working - and not seeing her unconventional relation except at mealtimes.  
  
Sora went away to visit her own relatives in Kobe two days into the summer break, and Mimi abruptly found herself rather lonely. Nobody else at school bothered with her except Sora, finding the pink haired girl a nuisance with her disability and avoiding her where possible. Mimi didn't usually care, but with the absence of her comrade her existence became one of ostensibly endless loneliness and boredom. TV and the mall quickly lost their appeal, and it was too dangerous for her to go nature hiking very far from the house lacking supervision without injuring herself.  
  
Things wouldn't have been so bad, she considered, if she could spend more time reading. But her eyes tired so easily that she couldn't afford more than half an hour at a time. It didn't matter, though, since all the books in the extensive library were about the most horrifying Greek myths, often illustrated with equally gory pictures. When Mimi had been too little to read, she'd once attempted to make up stories to match the illustrations. But the images had proved too scary for her innocent mind, and she'd given up reading them unless she was truly, truly bored.  
  
There were *some* visitors to the house during the vacation, however, these were for her Uncle. Two people who - on separate occasions - introduced themselves as 'Mr. Marcus Levisham Holman III' and 'Lady Celia Howarth-Jones' when she answered the door, and waved to the drivers of their limousines once she'd fetched Patrick for them. Marcus III had given her a red lollipop for her trouble, making her feel quite outraged. She was fifteen, not five! But Patrick spirited these guests away before she even had chance to talk to them, explaining that they were commissioners of his first human sculptures and had come to pose for him. Obviously, he wanted to begin work right away, and she was to stay out of his studio whilst he did, so as not to break his concentration.  
  
Mimi was left alone once again, her only solace coming with the rising of the moon when she could retire to her bed. Her Walkman became her only friend, and she huddled beneath the bedclothes with the headphones pressed tightly to her ears, trying to block out the all-consuming silence of her dark room, and revelling in the short freedom from her glasses the night afforded her. Finally, she fell into an uneasy slumber.  
  
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Mimi's dreams were troubled, the two visitors seeming to haunt them like ghostly spectres. Strange pictures flooded her sleeping mind, seeping into her psyche with unbridled influence.  
  
Her astral body appeared to her, whole and fully healed. Her eyes needed no corrective lenses, and she stared about her with pure joy at seeing the world for herself. She could see her bedroom, but it was as if it were day, such was the power of her newly restored sight. Her wire hairbrush lay on the side of the dresser, fine strands of pink waving gently in the breeze wafting in through the crack in the window. Mimi turned and looked at her closet, her bookcase, her lamp - all mundane, everyday things, but which seemed more precious than gold to her reconditioned vision. The teenager's mouth twitched into a happy smile, and a small contented sigh escaped her lips.  
  
Suddenly, she heard a creak. She whirled round to see a chink of light manifest in the wall, widening as the squeaking grew louder and more prolonged. The rest of the room seemed to fade away, as her mind was caught up in this strange, spreading illumination until her eyeballs hurt. Brightness pierced through the fog of euphoria clogging her senses, and pain swam into her brain before a myriad of random pictures and memories followed suit. Faces - some familiar, some not - crowded into her drowsy mind's eye, accompanied by voices and soft rumbling sounds. Yet the pain was what held her most. It plagued her, spearing her very soul with its unconditional brand of agony. Every cell and pore was alive with the writhing torment inflicted upon them, and Mimi opened her mouth to release the torture in a scream.  
  
The universe abruptly shattered. Smashed by her piercing screech into a million infinitesimal shards - too small and too many to ever be reformed into any semblance of order. Mimi fell. Plummeted into the void left in the implosion's wake, wanting to yell again but finding that she couldn't. She simply descended into the nothingness, gradually losing the awareness of her own sentience to the numbing blackness, until ultimately there was naught left but the echoing memory of her angst-ridden squeal.  
  
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Mimi awoke the next morning tired and groggy. What should have been a refreshing sleep had turned out to be a disorientating nightmare, and the images irked themselves around her brain, impressing horrendous memories into her mind until she felt she would never forget them for as long as she lived.  
  
Her Uncle was less than helpful, telling her to stop whining and go take an aspirin if she had a headache. Mimi sloped off, grudgingly taking his advice, and feeling the better for it when her pounding head began to clear.  
  
The next few days stretched out like eternity for the bored teenager. A week passed, and gradually her sleep pattern returned to normal, although she constantly dreaded another headache-inducing nightmare. 'Marcus III' and 'Lady Howarth-Jones' left without saying goodbye, which Mimi considered rather rude, but probably usual behaviour for people of their status.  
  
The day after their departure, Uncle Patrick revealed his newest creations to his niece. Mimi was utterly gob smacked by them. It wasn't just the intricate attention to detail this time, but the spirit of the subjects that he seemed to have infused the sculptures with. The pink haired girl stared at the two statues in awe, noting that he'd even managed to carve the ruffled tissue bulging from inside Marcus's breast pocket, as well as the crooked pinfeather sprouting from Lady Howarth-Jones's lavishly decorated hat. Really, it was the most amazing thing she'd ever seen, and a hint of pride swelled in her chest to be related to such a gifted and brilliant artist.  
  
Patrick Tachikawa's first human sculptures were destined for an exhibition in Tokyo, and he told Mimi that he would be travelling with them to their intended destination to supervise their delivery and make sure that no harm befell them along the way. Such was his absorption in these plans and arrangements that he seemed quite unconcerned when his niece brought him a newspaper clipping she'd cut out pertaining to the disappearances of both Marcus Levisham Holman III and Lady Celia Howarth-Jones from their homes.  
  
"I'm too busy to read trifling newspapers!" He declared when she burst into his studio with the report - glad, as she was to at last obtain some degree of interest to entertain her, only to be shot down again by her guardian's brusque demeanour as he closed his enigmatic metal box and hurried to ready himself for the van waiting outside, already containing his prized sculptures.  
  
"I.... I just thought you'd be interested, is all." She half explained, half apologised, skipping lightly out of the way as he hastened past her down the spiral staircase.  
  
"Well I'm not!" Was the curt reply. "And how any times must I tell you, never enter my studio without invitation? *Especially* when my box is open?"  
  
"Sorry, Uncle Patrick." Mimi mumbled, dutifully following him when he beckoned.   
  
When they reached the waiting vehicle, the bearded man turned to his charge and enveloped her with a quick, atypical hug, startling her somewhat with his rarely shown emotion.  
  
"Now, you must amuse yourself while I'm away as best you can." He grumbled. "I've left some food in the refrigerator for you, and there's a fresh loaf in the bread bin if you want to make sandwiches."  
  
"Yes Uncle Patrick." Mimi murmured as he climbed into the chugging motor vehicle, which was sending plumes of blackish fumes through the open door and into the hallway of their home.  
  
She waved as he shoved it into gear, then drove away to the end of their driveway and turned onto the empty road beyond, in due course travelling out of sight behind a hedge.  
  
Mimi waited a few moments, making sure he was gone, and then whirled round to bolt up the winding stairs to her Uncle's studio.  
  
//I'm sure I'll find plenty to do, Uncle.// She thought to herself as her feet thudded up the wooden steps and into the oft-forbidden room. //Especially since you left in such a hurry....// She crossed the statue-ridden floor to the far counter. //.... and forgot to hide the keys to your mysterious box.//  
  
It was the opportunity Mimi had been waiting for. The steel coffer sat before her on the workbench, squat, grey and unassuming. Yet within it lay the answers to questions she'd brewed for fourteen long years. What was inside? Why was Uncle Patrick so secretive about it? Why was she never allowed to look upon its contents?  
  
Mimi picked up the heavy key from where it lay beside the angular strongbox. It felt thick and grave in her elfin hand, the chunky rod seeming incongruously wide next to her delicate slender fingers. The teenager raised it to the lock, anticipation manifesting itself into a tight knot in her stomach. Suddenly, she halted, the key poised in mid-air next to the padlock as her frequently over-active imagination spewed ideas into her excitement-hungry brain.  
  
//And yet, now the time has come, I'm almost afraid. *Why* is Uncle Patrick so obsessed with those horrible stories from ancient Greece?// Gingerly, Mimi placed the key in the lock. It clicked into place perfectly. //Why did he once tell me that he wished he owned the gorgon's head.... // She turned the key, and the lock popped open. // .... But that he'd managed to get hold of the next best thing to help him with his sculptures?// Gently - almost reverently - she removed this last obstacle, laying it down on the wooden surface of the counter next to her. // Such a strange shaped box. - not like a toolbox at all - but just large enough to hold something round. Like a ball....// Fingers trembling slightly, she lifted the lid. //.... Or a head? A gorgon's head?//  
  
The hinge creaked faintly as it swung open, and Mimi fearfully gazed down into the puzzling container. Her eyes widened behind her dark glasses, as she beheld....  
  
"Papers! Nothing in here but yellowed old documents and papers!"  
  
It was true. The box did indeed contain nothing but aged sheets of printed writing and several charts and graphs. Mimi felt a profuse sense of disappointment. So this was her Uncle's big secret? A load of elderly bits of manuscript? The teenager almost threw her find back down into its metal case, but her eye suddenly caught sight of something written on of the sheets clasped in her sweaty palm.  
  
It seemed that the papers, though old, told their own strange story. Mimi's weak eyes roved the type littering the page, disregarding the aching that started up behind her retina.  
  
//It says here that before he ever thought of becoming a sculptor, Uncle Patrick qualified in ophthalmology. Ophthalmology.... Isn't that the study of eyes?// She read on, an icy lump forming in the pit of her stomach as a far-distant memory niggled at the back of her mind. //And even in those days he believed in the gorgon legend. This news cutting says that he was actually struck off the medical register for conducting experiments on eyes to prove it!// Abruptly, and with perfect clarity, that niggling memory slammed in to Mimi's consciousness like a freight train, driving its recollections home into her mind. The force of it caused her to drop the papers and lean on the workbench for support, all the time those memories ringing through her psyche like a vicious knell.  
  
//*My* eyes! When I was little, I remember him making strange tests on *my* eyes. He said he was trying to make them better, but then he gave me these dark glasses, and told me to wear them all the time except when I slept!//  
  
Reminiscences of the dream when she'd seen the strange light in her bedroom, accompanied by a strange creaking.... like that of a door being opened. A bedroom door, perhaps? And the faces she'd stared at without her glasses - haunting images of Marcus III and Lady Howarth-Jones she'd believed only to be fevered products of her imagination, but which now seemed so much more....  
  
//S.... suppose they weren't dreams? Wh.... what if, after Uncle's tests, *I'm* his 'next best thing to a gorgon'?// The concept was just too much to contemplate, and Mimi's slender body sagged against the unit with the exertion, muscles flatly refusing to hold her up any longer.  
  
A swish of cold air behind her signified the door to the studio being opened, and a familiar gruff voice cut across her thoughts like a knife as its owner entered his workroom.  
  
"I forgot my damned house-keys. Think I left them here on the side - " He halted, as did his footsteps, when he saw what his errant niece was up to. "Mimi! Didn't I tell you NEVER to open that box?!"  
  
The angry shout startled Mimi, and she whipped round in shock. But her perspiration slicked hand abruptly slipped on the counter, sending her stumbling off balance towards her guardian. Her glasses slithered from her nose, falling slowly to smash on the wooden floor. A frightened cry echoed through the spacious room as they splintered into countless minuscule slivers.  
  
"Don't! No, stop! AAAAAARGH!!"  
  
The pink haired girl staggered further, crashing into the man's strong arms as he prevented her from toppling over. Her ashen face struck smooth hardness, and her skin immediately became aware of the incredible cold of the surface it was pressed against. The teenager tilted her face to gaze up into the visage of her guardian, staring hard at him through her newly revealed soft brown eyes. She reached up and brushed his cheek with one slim hand. Mimi spoke - voice light yet trembling and tinctured with disbelief.  
  
"Uncle Patrick? You're so cold. So ice cold and stony!"  
  
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Finis  
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End file.
